Chapter 7 - The Interrogation RoomThe harsh fluorescent lights of the county holding facility buzzed overhead.
Julian sat across the metal table in an orange jumpsuit, looking ten years older than he had twenty-four hours ago. His hair was disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, and his expensive linen shirt had been replaced coarse prison cotton.
The heavy metal door clicked open, and I walked in, followed by a single security consultant carrying a locked leather briefcase.
Julian’s head snapped up. When he saw me, a mix of pure fury and desperate pleading flashed across his face. He stood up so fast his chair screeched against the concrete floor.
"Elena! Thank God," Julian choked out, rushing toward the transparent divider, slamming his hands against the glass. "Please, you have to drop the charges. This has gone far enough! It was a joke—a bad joke! We can fix this, we can go to counseling, we can—"
I pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the glass, sat down gracefully, and crossed my legs. I picked up the telephone receiver attached to the booth. Julian hurriedly grabbed his receiver on the other side.
"Counseling, Julian?" I asked, my voice echoing faintly through the speaker. "Is that what you call physical assault and emotional abuse?"
"I was stressed! The market pressure, the investors—" Julian stammered, tears welling up in his eyes. "You know how high the stakes were! You're my wife—"
"Former wife," I corrected gently. "And let’s clear up another misconception, Julian. You were never running Aether Innovations. You were a figurehead. A front man I placed in the CEO seat because I wanted to see if success would make you a better man or a monster."
Julian stared at me, his breath hitching. "What... what are you talking about?"
The security consultant next to me popped open the leather briefcase and slid a stack of audited financial files onto the viewing counter.
"For the past three years, while you were busy taking credit for my algorithms, you were also secretly skimming funds from the company’s R&D budget to fund your mistress in Manhattan," I said, my tone as calm as if I were reading the morning weather report. "Chloe’s trust fund, Sophie’s luxury cars, your secret offshore accounts in the Caymans—every single transaction was routed through shell companies that you personally signed off on."
May you like
Julian’s face turned the color of ash. "How... how do you know about Chloe...?"
"Because I set up the shell companies, Julian," I said, leaning forward until my eyes locked onto his terrified gaze. "I gave you the rope. And today, you finally finished tying the knot."
Related Stories
